


there ain't nothin' common bout us

by KHart



Series: they say we are what we are, but we don't have to be [1]
Category: World Wrestling Entertainment
Genre: Alternate Universe - Harry Potter Setting, F/F, It's becky Sasha and Bayley's alternating pov, Multi, POV Alternating, because Charlotte's pov will be the entirety of the next story, this is a prequel of sorts, this is the lead up to the next story :)
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-01-20
Updated: 2019-01-27
Packaged: 2019-10-13 00:49:40
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 12,191
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17478131
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/KHart/pseuds/KHart
Summary: During their seventh year at Hogwarts, the Triwizard Tournament is announced, and Charlotte is dead-set on entering. Bayley thinks it's a bad idea, Sasha is upset she didn't meet the age requirement, and Becky doesn't know anything about the contest but rumors. So, to say the least, it's sure to be an adventure, and it will certainly test their relationship.But, before these events can unfold, there is another tale that must be told.Theirs.---Or: How the Horsewomen come to be in years one through six at Hogwarts.





	1. 'cause everything is new and everything is you (intro)

**Author's Note:**

> This is a prequel to the upcoming story of the Triwizard Tournament during their seventh year at Hogwarts. 
> 
> It will alternate between Becky, Sasha, and Bayley's points of view, as the next story is entirely from Charlotte's point of view.
> 
> \---
> 
> Title of the fic is from the song "Common" by Zayn.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Title of the chapter from "Lay All Your Love On Me" by ABBA.

**_September 1_ **

On the morning that Becky is set to be taken to Hogwarts, she's nearly buzzing and breathless with anticipation.

She's been up for hours by the time the alarm of the hotel's clock is blaring in short bursts that are bound to irritate her father.

She barely slept a wink yet she's so quick to get out of her bed that she nearly face plants into the ugly, stained carpet on the floor. She just manages to catch herself against the edge of the other bed in time, but it's another disturbance to her father's peace that he won't appreciate. 

“Slow down, Rebecca,” her mother instructs, from where she's sitting at the stiff couch they had the option of making into another bed. “We’re going to be on time. Keep yourself in one piece, please.”

Becky straightens herself back up swiftly and with an obedient nod.

The gentleness of her mother's voice stirs something in her chest, that's able to break through her excitement just briefly. 

“Yes, Mamaí,” she answers.

Her mom matches her grin with a more mild smile, that Becky will one day be able to recreate perfectly. She tilts her head a little and just looks at her for a moment, in a way that shows she’s still tender about the fact that this will be their last morning together for a while.

"Go on, get dressed," she eventually says. "I'm going to go get some breakfast from downstairs. Your dad should start stirring soon. You know he needs a bit to wake up."

"Okay, Mamaí."

It only takes three minutes after she's changed for Becky to start bouncing on her toes. She taps her right foot against the ground as she brushes her teeth.

She makes quick work of eating the breakfast her mom brings back, and then she drums her fingers on the tabletop while they wait for her father to finish getting ready.

And, while it's true that he can move a little slower sometimes, currently, and not for the first time, Becky wonders if he truly wishes to tell her not to go to Hogwarts. She thinks he’s probably trying to delay her departure for as long as he can without fully sabotaging it.

She knows he’s wary—so is her mother—and given the fact that they’d only learned about the existence of magic and the magical world a mere month before, Becky understands the trepidation.

But she doesn’t share it.

No. The concept of magic and the reality that there's a whole other world for her to live in has had her so fascinated since she was told, that she’s found it feels a little hard to breathe at times just thinking about it all.

And that’s why her parents, despite their confusion and apprehension, have agreed to take her to King’s Cross Station on this day, September 1st. Because they love her, and they support her, even when they don’t always understand.

She hopes they know how grateful she is for them.

When they cross through to the platform, after a bit of confusion—and a lot of “Are you _positive_ you have to run at the wall?”—Becky breathes out a hushed, “Whoa."

Because there before her sits the Hogwarts Express, glistening and gleaming on its tracks, surrounded by white steam and hundreds of people bustling about in an attempt to get in the right places.

It's taller than she imagined and somehow regal looking—too sophisticated for her, at least—and, suddenly, she's filled with a nervousness that she supposes was bound to make an appearance at some point.

She doesn’t know if it is, in fact, the size of the train, _or_ the fact that she’s just finally registered that it’s about to transport her to an unknown school in an unfamiliar place, but something about it finally has her unsettled.

It finally gives her pause.

She feels a whole lot less sure, and she’s very close to turning around and saying she’s okay with living a normal life with her normal, loving parents back home, where she knows she belongs. She's sure that the magical people at Hogwarts will understand, as long as she promises to keep their secret, right?

“It’s alright, Rebecca,” her father says, sensing her oncoming panic, kneeling down before her and placing a firm hand on her shoulder, as strong and steady as she’s always known him. “You don’t have to go if you don’t want to. No one's going to force you.”

Becky nods, with a thick swallow. Her eyes are teary, and she can’t pinpoint when they got that way but she knows she hates it. She glances back at the the train and feels her stomach swoop down to her knees and stay there.

“We can go home if you’d like, love,” her mom tells her then. “It’s up to you.”

Becky nods again, on instinct. She inhales a slow breath through her nose, clenches her fingers into fists and then relaxes them, before repeating the process over.

She thinks about how excited she’s been for the past month. She thinks about how she and her parents traveled from their home in Ireland to make it to this station and platform. She thinks about everything she could accomplish with the help of magic, how much easier she could make any burden on her parents' lives.

And then she concludes she’s come too far to chicken out now.

So her resolve resettles. Her jaw sets. Her stomach climbs back up into its spot.

“I’m gonna go,” she finally says, meeting her dad’s gaze and then her mom’s. “I can do it.”

They both nod at her this time, misty-eyed with a lot of pride, a little bit of sorrow, and so much love.

“Well, alright then. Let’s make sure you get a good spot, yeah?”

"Yeah."

Becky doesn’t show any more hesitation after that.

Even when it’s time for them to finally say proper goodbyes and her parents cry a little. Even when they kiss her and hug her tight, and she cries a little too.

She promises them, “I’ll be alright,” and she means it. “I’ll write you to tell you all about it.”

They nod again, because they know she means that too. They give her a few more kisses on her head and cheeks, and then she’s on her own.

She once again takes a breath, a pause, in through the nose and out through the mouth.

She urges herself on with a quiet, “Alright, Lynch,” and then she walks down the hall of the train in search of a compartment that looks friendly enough to take her in.

The ones with older students are definitely a no go, she decides right off the bat. The ones filled to the brim are too, naturally.

A few minutes go by, and her search turns out to be a little more difficult than she'd anticipated. 

But, all the while, she's trying to appear as if she knows where she’s going, as if she’s got a destination and isn’t looking for one, and, so, she’s so caught up in how people see her that she forgets to look where she’s going.

She runs directly into a body she should’ve seen coming.

“Oh!” comes the surprised exclamation, from her victim, who takes a slight step back to regain stability. “I’m sorry! I wasn’t looking where I was going. Are you alright?”

Becky blinks at the girl; she's almost positive that she's seeing actual sunspots swirling across her line of sight from the brightness of the smile that's greeted her. She finds all she can do is jerk her chin up and then down dumbly a few times.

“Yeah…” she says, before shaking her head and repeating with more conviction, “ _Yeah_. Yeah, I’m good." She clears her throat. "I’m sorry. That was my fault. Are you okay?”

“I’m great!” A hand is offered for Becky to take hold of. “And I’m Bayley!”

Becky fits their hands together and participates in three more up and down motions before withdrawing into her own space again.

“Becky,” she responds, with her own less blinding form of a smile. “Becky Lynch.”

”Nice to meet you!” Bayley says, and Becky wonders if she’s always the same level of cheerful, if her smile is always so bright. She thinks maybe she should’ve brought a pair of sunglasses. “Do you want to find a compartment together?”

Becky then figures she doesn’t have anything to lose by agreeing, and maybe she’s a little relieved to not be on her own now.

“Yeah, sure,” she gestures for Bayley to lead the way, and then she follows behind when she does.

While they walk, Becky is told that Bayley’s a halfblood—Becky later finds out what that means—and a first-year too.

“But I’ve learned enough about everything over the years, so don’t worry,” she reassures Becky. “It’s okay to be nervous, but I promise everything will be okay.”

And Becky isn’t sure she likes that Bayley could tell she was nervous so easily, but if the cat’s out of the bag then she guesses there’s no point in trying to shove it back in; she doesn’t deny it.

When Bayley glances over her shoulder and adds, “Especially now that we’re friends,” there’s something about the sure way she nods along to her own words that has Becky believing her.

“If we stick together,” Bayley then says. “I’ll look out for you. And you can look out for me. Yeah?”

And Becky likes the sound of that. She likes the thought of having a friend so soon, so she agrees.

When they find a compartment, towards the end of the train, they settle in for the journey. They seem to click instantly, as they talk about their lives and the things they like to do.

Bayley says she likes to read and play guitar. She likes the color of the sunset, but there’s something about a sunrise that feels more peaceful. She wants a cat, but her parents said she has to get good grades for her first year before they’ll let her have one.

Becky says that she likes guitar but doesn’t know how to play, and Bayley promises to teach her. Becky says she likes sunsets but has never woken up early enough to see a sunrise, and Bayley promises to show her. Becky says she’s never even thought about having a cat, and Bayley says she can share hers every once in a while.

Really, to make a long story short, it doesn’t take long for Becky to conclude that Bayley is the nicest person she’s ever met and that she’s incredibly lucky to have been chosen to be her friend.

She starts trying to figure out what she can offer Bayley in return for the guitar lessons and the sunrises and the partial-custody of her future cat pretty quickly, but she doesn’t think of anything immediately. The only reason she doesn't stress about it is because she knows she’s got time. Or, at least, she's got a feeling that she and Bayley will be friends for while. And her feelings have never steered her wrong before, so she trusts them this time.

A few minutes prior to when the train is set to depart, there’s a knock on their door, light and brief, and in pops the head of another girl.

“Hey, I’m Sasha," she greets. "There’s no free compartments left, so it’s cool if I sit with y’all, right?”

She’s already moving to sit beside Bayley, across from Becky, before she can even see them nod and say, “Yeah.”

She very unceremoniously leans back into the corner of the seat, close to the door, and props her feet up a few inches away from Bayley’s legs. Becky isn’t sure whether she’s jealous of how cool the girl is or if she’s a little offended by the casualness of the intrusion.

After a few seconds, she decides it’s somewhere in between and just introduces herself instead of dwelling on it. Bayley does the same with almost the same amount of enthusiasm as when she’d introduced herself to Becky.

The conversation continues to flow pretty well after that, but Sasha—last name Banks—likes to talk about herself more than anything, so it’s a good thing Becky and Bayley are naturally good listeners.

The train is just starting to move when the door to the compartment opens once more, and in steps another girl, this one out of breath and tall. She freezes when she sees them.

“Oh, sorry, can I sit with you guys?” she asks, suddenly shier, less sure. “I didn’t think anyone would be at the end of the train.”

Becky and Bayley go to nod instinctively, but Becky knows they’re both secretly hoping that no one else will join after this person. The girl shoots them both a small smile in gratefulness, and Becky’s mild irritation ebbs instantly.

Sasha, however, scoffs. She’s looking at their new compartment-mate with a familiarity Becky and Bayley don’t seem to have.

“Cutting it a little close, aren’t we, Baby Flair?”

Vague recognition flits across Bayley’s face then at the mention of the name, but Becky is still lost, and she’s definitely taken aback by the sudden hostility in Sasha’s tone, when she had been relatively friendly before, even if a little self-absorbed.

A sudden glare takes over “Baby Flair’s” face, and it’s directed at no one but Sasha. Her timidness disappears.

“Actually, I was here an hour ago, but I was helping someone find—.” She cuts off and presses her lips together, narrows her eyes. “You know what, I don’t owe you any explanation, Banks. I’ll go find a new compartment.”

“Yeah, you do that. See you in Slytherin.”

Flair—Becky’s assuming that’s the girl’s last name—doesn’t give Sasha a response, and she doesn’t give Bayley or Becky another glance, though Becky kind of wishes she would smile again as she leaves.

When the door slides closed, Becky turns to Sasha, a light frown on her lips.

“How do you know she’s going to be in Slytherin with you?”

(Sasha had already expressed her desire to be in the house of the snakes, like her older brother and mother were, and she’s also said that the hat will listen if she says that’s where she’s meant to be. Becky has to admit that from what she’s heard of the house, Sasha will probably fit right in.)

Sasha scoffs again.

“Please,” she mutters. “That’s Charlotte Flair. If she’s not one to follow family footsteps, then I’ll dye my hair purple.” She gets a blank stare in return, so she sighs and continues. “She isn’t one to pave her own path, if you know what I mean. And no one in the Flair family has been anything but Slytherin for centuries. So, we’re gonna be roomies by the end of the night, I’ll tell you that.”

“How do you know so much about her?”

“How could I not?” Sasha replies. “The Flair family is one of the richest and most well known pureblood lines in all of the wizarding world. Granted, I know her a little more just because we’ve been forced to go to the same boring, snobby social gatherings since birth, but, still, everyone knows. Bayley here knows, right?”

Becky turns her attention to see Bayley looking like she’s deep in thought. The girl nods some after a second.

“Yeah, I’ve heard about them. Wasn’t her dad a big, um, supporter of You Know Who in The War?”

“Yeah. Something like that. He was never outright, of course, but he was certainly involved in some sketchy Dark Arts stuff.” Sasha seems completely unbothered by the weight of the statement. She even adds, “Oh, and he won the Triwizard Tournament back in his Hogwarts days too,” as an afterthought, as if the two could be comparable as relevant backstory.

“Well, you don’t think _she’s_ like that, do you?” Becky asks. “Into sketchy stuff?”

Sasha just gives an amused grin in response.

“Like I said, if she’s not one to follow family footsteps, I’ll dye my hair purple.”

Becky and Bayley share a look, and Becky finds herself feeling a little less settled as they move the conversation to other topics. She vows silently to herself to steer clear of Charlotte Flair just in case everything Sasha said turns out to be true.

When the train stops, the three of them stick together as they’re ushered towards the boats on the lake, and Becky’s so captivated by the way some of the others are already departing without rowers that she’s very startled to see that the person they’ve been paired with is the very one she’d just sworn to keep away from.

Sasha, though, looks up and smirks. (For someone who supposedly can't stand the girl, Sasha sure seems to be pleased any time she sees her.) 

“Following me, are you, Flair?”

Charlotte looks just as unhappy to be in the same space as them as Becky is uneasy at feeling the tension that's in the air.

She doesn’t let it show in her voice as she says a low, “You wish,” and sits down.

Becky and Bayley silently share another look—something that seems like it’ll become a norm—before they both decide to mind their business and look out at their surroundings.

The vast expanse of the lake's surface shimmers with the light of the stars and the moon, and the way it looks like glass being melted and molded to fit the paths of their boats has Becky almost captivated and tempted to reach her hand in too.

But it isn't until she sees the castle for the first time, that she swears she finally learns what it feels like to be _truly_ breathless. The dark outline of the structure against the sky is tall and imposing, but the warm lights from the inside, seeping out into the night, make it look welcoming and like a place Becky will gladly come to call home.

It’s not long before the boats have come to a stop, and then everyone is scrambling out of them, eager to see more and be sorted.

Becky and Sasha are already on the dock when Bayley trips trying to step over the edge of the boat.

And while Sasha is too distracted to see it, Becky reaches out instinctively to catch her. The only reason she doesn’t is because someone else beats her to it.

“Thanks,” Bayley mumbles bashfully, letting Charlotte help her straighten up before releasing her grip on her.

Charlotte smiles again, quiet and barely there, like before in the compartment.

“No problem.”

Then she moves away and disappears into the crowd, and Becky and Bayley are left to follow after where Sasha’s already leading the charge towards the entrance.

Becky’s so nervous while waiting to see what houses they’ll all be sorted into, that she can’t properly take the time to marvel at the Great Hall like she wants to, but she promises herself she will when her nerves aren’t so shaky.

Out of their new little group, Sasha is the first one to be called up. She moves with nothing but steady confidence towards the stool, and when she settles upon it, there’s a smirk on her face. Once again, Becky wishes she possessed some of the same type of coolness. She’s unsurprised when the hat barely has to touch Sasha’s head before it’s shouting, “Slytherin!” in its jarringly booming voice. (Turns out Sasha was right about where she’d be heading.)

A few more names, and then it’s Bayley’s that’s being called, and Becky gives her an encouraging nod when she notices she’s nervous too. When she sits down on the stool, she clasps her hands atop her knees. It doesn’t take long for the hat to announce that she’ll be in Hufflepuff, and Becky has the fleeting thought that yellow is probably her color, as she watches her join her table.

Then it’s Becky’s turn. She takes her place like she’s supposed to, and soon she feels the fabric of the hat fall over her eyes and envelop her senses in darkness.

A kind of creepy voice starts to debate back and forth with itself and with her about her different attributes, but eventually it decides that she has “too much fire in her heart” to go anywhere but “Gryffindor!”

The Gryffindor table cheers for her as she makes her way down the steps, and she smiles at the people that she sits down next to, but then “Charlotte Flair!” is the name listed off, and her attention shifts.

That same shy, reserved air maintains its place around Charlotte as she steps to the stool, but when she sits upon it, her posture is perfect. Her chin is held high, and she looks perfectly impassive, but Becky thinks there's no way she can be comfortable.

She’s almost _positive_ she can’t be comfortable for how long she holds the position, at least. Because the hat takes a longer amount of time deciding for Charlotte than it does on anyone else—Becky’s assuming longer than her too, but she couldn’t really tell.

People start to murmur.

“I’m surprised the hat even had to touch her before saying Slytherin,” someone to her right whispers. “What’s taking so long?”

“You think she’s gonna be in Ravenclaw or something?”

“No way she’ll be a Hufflepuff.”

“Maybe the hat’s broken. It has been used for centuries, after all.”

Becky finds herself suddenly hoping that Charlotte will be in Gryffindor with her, or Hufflepuff with Bayley, or Ravenclaw on her own, so maybe she won’t follow in her family footsteps like Sasha said. That way Becky wouldn’t have to be wary about being friends with her and she might be able to see her smile more.

But then another moment passes and the hat finally calls out “Slytherin!” and Becky’s shoulders slump in defeat.

The house of the snakes erupts into cheers as Charlotte’s timidness returns. She meekly makes her way over to them, and Becky catches a glimpse of Sasha’s smirking face.

 _Oh, well_ , Becky thinks. _Sasha was right twice._

She guesses she’ll just have to steer clear of Charlotte, just to be safe, maybe just until she sees whether or not the girl is as bad as she’d heard.

She won’t get to see her smile, but that’s okay. She thinks.

Because she’s gotten Bayley as a friend, and she thinks she got Sasha as one too. And those two, on top of learning literal magic, would be enough, right?

Three is a good number, right?


	2. First Year

Unfortunately, and despite all of her enthusiasm, Becky has a bit of a tough time picking up magic.

Not the concept of it, because she kicks butt at history and theory, but the execution of it.

The spells almost feel too foreign, like her tongue wasn't made to make the sounds and say the syllables of them. Her accent only seems to make it worse.

Her grip on her wand is awkward, it's not as normal looking as the other students', and that makes her self conscious. She feels like there's too many eyes on her, even though she knows that, logically, other people are too focused on themselves to care. She tries to hold her wand like everyone else does, because it seems to work for them, but it doesn't help anything.

When they first learn the simple charm of making something float—a feather in the first class—she can barely get it to hover a centimeter up; it wobbles and wavers and falls without sound, like its disappointed in her. Like it's the silent, disapproving frown of her mom whenever she'd tracked mud through the house, staring at her and expecting better.

It makes her feel small and a little sick. It makes her feel out of place.

She tries to practice, on her own, in the library where no one will notice, but Bayley and Sasha find her. Which is nice, admittedly, because, Becky honestly didn't think they were going to stick around after the first day.

Becky honestly thought that once they were sorted into different houses, they would all make new friends, friends different from the people they'd met on the comparatively short journey on the Hogwarts Express.

She thought that soon she'd be nothing but an orange blip in the memory of their days at Hogwarts, an "oh, I remember her" when looking at photos and thinking about the first day of their magical education.

But then she was told she had Potions with Sasha and Herbology with Bayley, and she realized she got to see them more than she'd expected.

So, they'd all stuck together. Sasha and Bayley stuck around.

And Becky appreciates that. She likes having go-to people, because she's never had that before, being an only child that moved schools a lot for her father's job.

Having go-to people is nice, and Becky's learning that three definitely is a good number. (It had never been her favorite before—she's more of an even numbers fan—but she's growing to appreciate it.)

Just like she appreciates the patience Sasha shows when demonstrating the correct wand motions for _Wingardium Leviosa_. Just like she appreciates the encouragement Bayley provides as she tries over and over again.

Just like she appreciates how neither of them seem to judge her at all for struggling, when she'd already been laughed at by a Ravenclaw in her Charms class named Zelina.

"It's alright to not get it down at first," Bayley says, when Becky lays her head on her arms and tries not to feel defeated. "We'll keep practicing. Just because magic is naturally in us, doesn't mean it's easy to control."

Becky looks up, but she keeps her chin on her forearm.

"It's easy for you," she mumbles, not petulantly, just a statement.

"That's because we've been exposed to magic our whole lives," comes Sasha's response. "We've watched adults do the same spells we're being taught. We're more familiar with it. It just takes time."

Becky sighs.

"I know. I just want to be good at it _now._ It feels like I came in here with a disadvantage. It feels like they set me up on purpose."

Becky then lets out a huff, accompanied by a dramatic rise and fall of her shoulders, and that earns a little bit of an eye roll from Sasha and an indulgent smile from Bayley.

"I have no doubt in my mind that you're going to be one of the best witches of our generation. With maybe just a little bit of practice," Bayley declares, as her grin widens. "But even the best have to eat, and I'm starving. You coming to dinner?"

Becky looks at the feather in front of her, lying still and silent. She hates that she feels like it's continuing to taunt her. Her eyes narrow.

"I'm gonna stay just a little longer."

She's still glaring at the bane of her existence as Sasha and Bayley share a look.

"If you're not at dinner in twenty minutes, I'm going to incinerate the feather," Sasha says. "And then you won't have to worry about it. How's that?"

A twitch of a smile lifts the corner of Becky's lips.

"Sounds good."

Bayley and Sasha head off after final goodbyes, and Becky spends three more minutes staring grumpily before she picks up her wand and prepares to try again.

“Always try again, Rebecca,” her mother always told her. “No matter how many times you fail or get knocked down. Always try again.”

Becky lived by those words, from an even younger age than eleven.

And she plans to continue to do so now.

But just as she’s opening her mouth and lifting her hand, the sound of something clattering to the floor in an aisle just behind her catches her attention. It makes her jump a little.

She stands from her chair and turns away from the table.

“Hey,” she calls out, as she takes a few steps forward. “You okay?”

When no answer comes, her steps turn into full and quick strides.

“You need some help—?” She peeks around the edge of the shelf only to find no one there and nothing out of place. She squints. “What?”

Her eyebrows meet in the middle. She goes and checks the next two aisles just to be positive she's not missing anything, and then she blinks a little in bewilderment. She pauses and puts most of her weight on one heel, as she crosses her arms.

“Huh.” She wipes a hand across her face. “Sasha might’ve been right. Maybe I'm driving myself mad.”

As if to concur, or maybe just make itself known, a yawn stretches at her lips, so strongly it feels like her jaw might crack apart.

She makes a noise with her exhale, as her lips press together once more, and then she shakes her head to try to get the disorientation out of it.

“Guess it wouldn’t hurt to get some food,” she mumbles quietly, as she makes her way back to her spot. “Also wouldn’t want Sasha to get expelled for arson, would we?” She pauses as she’s reaching for her bag. “And now I’m talking to myself. Way to lean into the madness, Lynch.”

She shakes her head again with a breathy, almost chuckle. She intends to grab the feather and her wand and go, but, instead, she freezes once more, upon seeing a single folded piece of parchment lying on the tabletop in front of her chair.

Again, her gaze lifts and searches her surroundings, this time with even more suspicion. She only finds the same edges and corners she’s been seeing for the last two hours.

The library is silent around her. Almost everyone is at dinner or socializing elsewhere.

But not everyone apparently.

Because as Becky takes the page into her hands and unfolds it, she’s met with a short and neatly-written message.

_The way you’re holding your wand doesn’t seem comfortable. Try going with whatever way feels natural, and don’t worry about how it looks._

Her head snaps up. She listens for the sound of a creak, a shuffle of feet, a sniff or a sigh. A laugh.

Her anxiety rises, right up to the base of her jaw to make it tick.

She rereads the note. She tries to discern the tone of it from the slant of the lines. To her, it doesn’t _seem_ like it’s making fun. To her, it _seems_ like it’s trying to help. But she isn’t entirely sure.

Because she feels caught somehow. Her ears are trying to burn in embarrassment, and she doesn’t know why.

She’s already sick of feeling like an imposter in the school, a wannabe that’s not meant to make it in the magical world.

She’s already immensely tired of being paranoid that there are eyes on her at all times, ready to see every struggle and slip up, ready to point her out should anyone ever come through and sweep out the bad seeds.

But, again, the note doesn’t feel cruel. It seems like whoever wrote it—someone who _could_ be a professor because of how perfect the letters are formed and spaced—is attempting to give her help, just like Bayley and Sasha gave her help.

So, Becky stops packing. She sits herself back down, and she picks her wand back up; she looks at how she’s been forcing herself to hold it and glances to the note.

Her teeth catch her bottom lip briefly, and then she shifts her grip to the way she’d been holding her wand before she became truly self conscious: a full wrapping of her hand around it instead of with her thumb resting on its own against the wood like a pointer.

She inhales a short breath, and then she applies the movements Sasha showed her, as she says the spell with the correct stresses like Bayley told her.

“ _Wingardium_ _Leviosa_.”

She almost wants to shut her eyes just so she can peek out of them instead, because she isn’t sure her self esteem can take another hit. But then, after a second of delay, the feather levitates like it was made for it.

Becky almost lets out a whoop of victory, but she settles for a disbelieving laugh. She slumps back in her chair, effectively letting the feather fall back down, with less of a scathing quiet to it, almost like it’s proud.

She tries to fight the grin that’s tugging at the muscles in her lips, but she’s not succeeding very well.

Because it’s such a small victory, but after what feels like so many repeated losses, after feeling lost among the expansive grounds and corridors of Hogwarts, after feeling lost without her parents there to give her advice, Becky couldn’t be more in need of it.

So, she stops fighting the grin. She lets her muscles relax. She silently thanks her anonymous helper, and she makes a mental reminder to thank Sasha and Bayley when she sees them next.

Because, yes, it’s a small victory, but it’s also the first time Becky has felt her enthusiasm for magic return. Her hope that she’s found her rightful place quietly flickers back to life in her stomach. She resolves to make it stay.

She _does_ make it stay.

She writes 'Thank you' on a spare slip of parchment, complete with a crude rendition of a smiley face, and she leaves it upon the table as she goes. 

The next time Sasha and Bayley see her, they seem to be able to tell something has shifted. They seem pleased.

When new spells and charms are taught in her classes, Becky picks them up more easily. She gets used to how she’s supposed to say certain vowels and consonants, and she adjusts them accordingly to work with her accent, just as she tweaks the wand motions a little to work with how she’s comfortable.

It doesn’t take that much longer before she starts to feel more in place, more at home.

She makes friends other than Bayley and Sasha. (Though they’re still her favorites.)

In her own house, Naomi and her friends Jimmy and Jey are hilarious and fun to talk to. Rusev was intimidating at first, but then Becky says a pun that has him snorting his juice at breakfast, and they become fast friends after; she learns that he’s surprisingly goofy. Ember, Roman, Apollo, and Big E are the ones she has the most fun in class with, if only because they all share looks in Potions that mock the Slytherin suck up named Baron. (Even Sasha laughs at those. Quietly and only for Becky to catch from glances across the room, really.)

In Hufflepuff, Bayley makes friends easily, unsurprisingly. Becky automatically likes the red-headed boy named Sami, because she feels there’s a certain kinship between them due to the hue of their hair.

“We gotta stick together, right?” he’d grinned at her after she’d introduced herself, to which she’d nodded firmly.

There’s also Titus, who is almost as tall as the majority of the seventh-years. But his smile is friendly, his demeanor is warm, and Becky thinks he’s in the right place. She thinks if anyone deserves to share a place with Bayley, it’s someone like Titus. Though Kofi deserves as well, because, in addition to being overwhelmingly kind, he’s a hoot and a half. Becky finds herself hanging out with him more often because Big E is one of his best friends, along with Xavier, who is a Ravenclaw and proud of it.

Sasha, in Slytherin, always has a whole group of people surrounding her, but she insists they aren’t her friends. She’s always willingly ready to leave their conversations to join Becky or Bayley instead, and sometimes Becky finds herself wondering _why_. She can’t figure out what it is about the two of them that seems to make Sasha act different, but she also decides not to question it.

Well, at least, she decides not to question it _too much_. She does ask the question of why Sasha says she doesn’t have friends, though, on the first Friday in November.

To which Sasha responds casually, “Just because people like me, doesn’t mean I like them,” before she leans back on her elbows. They’re sitting on the bleachers of the Quidditch pitch, out in the cold, because Bayley wanted to see which area would give the best vantage point for the game coming up on Sunday. “You’re the only ones I can tolerate.”

And the words aren’t warm—definitely not warm enough to keep out the chill of the air—but from Sasha, they’re not cold either, so Becky takes what she can get, and she tries to hide the little smile on her face as the breeze freezes her cheeks.

And, of course, she wouldn't ever dare to mention it out loud, but she’s starting to recognize the points of softness in Sasha, through her mask and calculated movements. She knows that Sasha has a lot of sharp edges, yes, but she also knows they're mostly for show, and that’s why she doesn’t listen to anyone when they tell her Sasha is too rude to be a good friend.

In Becky's experience, Sasha's a great friend. She's tutored her without complaint, saved seats for her when she's asked, lent her quills and parchment. She's even gotten better at listening when Becky and Bayley wish to tell their stories, which is a lot different already, from when they'd first met on the train. 

So, Sasha is a good friend, definitely. 

But Becky can't deny that Sasha _can_ be rude. In fact, it’s one of the things she seems to be best at. But Becky doesn’t think she means to be. Not all the time, at least.

Sasha’s just blunt. She says what she means, and she doesn’t particularly filter it in order to spare feelings.

That's just how it is, and Becky has come to accept that. She's learning to read through the lines and around the sarcasm that's usually coating Sasha's voice, and she wouldn't have continued being friends with Sasha if she thought she was actually a mean person. So, everyone else can mind their business, honestly.

"Hey,” Becky jumps at the abrupt poking of her side.

She blinks the blur of thought from her eyes and glances sideways at Bayley.  

"Huh?"

"Did you hear me?”

Becky's eyebrows knit together. She shakes her head enough for a few strands of orange hair to fall across her cheeks and forehead.

"I asked if you could warm my hands up?" Bayley repeats, a hopeful lilt to her voice.

She extends her hands to Becky, with her palms and fingers pressed flat together.

"Oh," Becky breathes. "Yeah."

She scoots a little closer on the bench and wraps her fingers around Bayley's own, feeling goosebumps rise across her skin at the contrast in their temperatures. A shiver shudders through her, and she instinctively rounds her shoulders in, as if she could block the cold despite its origin being a point of contact.

“Geez, how have your fingers not fallen off yet?”

Bayley hums happily as she shrugs.

"Dunno. But thank you," she says.

“S’no problem.”

"I don't know how you never get cold, but I'm glad you don't."

"Because I'm straight fire," Becky grins. "Red hot."

"Or just a hot head," Sasha muses, leaning forward some to flick at Becky's displaced hair. "Still yet to be determined."

Becky scrunches up her features and pokes her tongue out. Sasha mirrors her a second later, and Becky can see Bayley roll her eyes out of her peripherals.

She's just about to say something back when Bayley suddenly exclaims a loud, "Oh!" and withdraws her hands from between Becky's to start searching through her bag instead.

“There’s no way your hands are warmed up,” Becky says, holding her own in the same, abandoned position for a few moments before dropping them back to her lap.

“They’re not, but I remembered something!”

"What?" Sasha asks, with an amused arch of her eyebrow.

"I found that book in the library that we need for Transfiguration. I thought _you_ , Miss Banks, might want to borrow it for the night since you _still_ haven't started on your paper."

Sasha draws back with an indignant dropping of her jaw, a widening of her eyes, as if she’s offended.

"Excuse me, I don’t know what you’re trying to imply, but we still have three days left before it’s due. I'm not behind."

Bayley merely gives Sasha a pointed look in response, and Becky lets her gaze travel back out to the pitch to conceal her amusement.

A small flash of movement down on the ground catches her attention, and she narrows her eyes at it accordingly. The distance and the wind seem to be working together to make them less effective at their job, so she leans forward on the balls of her feet and squints even harder.

A fleeting peek of blonde hair from under a green hat is what helps Becky recognize her.

Charlotte Flair: the girl she’s been doing well in avoiding but is still so intrigued by.

“Is she running laps around the pitch?” Bayley asks suddenly, almost startlingly, seeing the same thing and leaning forward against the railing in a similar fashion as Becky. “Does she know it’s a Sunday and you’re supposed to rest on the weekends?”

Becky briefly gnaws at her bottom lip.

“She’s never not working when I see her,” she mumbles quietly, still following the progression of Charlotte’s path around the track.

And it’s true. Whenever Becky manages to get a glimpse of the mysterious Charlotte Flair, the girl is always in the midst of movement. It seems like she never sits still.

In class she’s writing what the professor’s saying, or she’s practicing the wand movements they’ve just been taught. In the corridors, she’s moving swiftly and silently past people. She walks alone, and she never stops walking for anyone.

Except, Becky suddenly remembers, the time when another first-year had been shoved down by some reckless and rude fourth-years, and Charlotte had stopped walking then, almost immediately.

Becky had been making her way towards the girl as well, out of instinct, but when she saw Charlotte get there first, she paused and simply watched. (She doesn’t know why. She should’ve kept walking to her class, which she was about to be late to for the third time in a row.)

“Are you alright?” came the quiet question, steady and firm, just like the hand that gave assistance in standing again.

“Yes,” was the answer, as Charlotte bent back down to collect the books that had fallen to the ground too. “Thank you.”

That smile—the one from the train, the one from the docks—flitted across Charlotte’s lips faintly, as she straightened back up.

“No problem,” she said then. “People are never really aware of what’s around them, are they?”

And Becky couldn’t see the other girl, but she’d assumed there was a small smile on her face too.

“No. They are not.”

Charlotte had released a short breath, something resembling a laugh, and then she’d handed the books back to their owner.

“Well, I hope the rest of your day goes well. Have a good one.”

She’d gone to turn then, but the girl called out to her.

“What’s your name?”

Charlotte had seemed surprised by the question, and Becky remembers being confused as to why.

She thought, maybe, it was because everyone always seemed to know who Charlotte was before Charlotte even had the chance to take two breaths in a room. She thought, maybe, it was because Charlotte wasn’t used to people taking an actual interest in her, since they already thought they knew her.

Then she remembered that she wasn’t really supposed to wonder about Charlotte, so she stopped thinking.

“Charlotte,” Charlotte answered, hesitating only briefly before sticking her hand out for the other girl to shake. “Charlotte Flair. And you?”

The surprise returned when her hand was taken without any pause or recoil. It lingered in her eyes for longer this time.

“Asuka,” came the simple reply. “Nice to meet you, Charlotte.”

Becky walked away when Charlotte smiled again, but she found that she paid more attention to the Flair heir after that, though she told herself she wouldn’t.

That’s how she’d noticed that Charlotte didn’t stop walking for anyone, but she also didn’t bump into anyone. She was smooth. She slipped in between the cracks in the crowd and let it swallow her whole. She was tall, but she wasn’t tall enough to stand out.

She kept her head down. She did her work. She didn’t talk to anyone.

Except for Asuka, sometimes. Becky noticed that they had become better acquainted with one another. Sometimes Asuka would accompany Charlotte in the corridor, and then, only then, Charlotte slowed down.

Other than that, though, she was isolated, and Becky didn’t know if it was by choice or not. She told herself not to think about it.

In fact, she rarely did think about it.

She had so much to learn and keep up with, she had Bayley and Sasha, so she rarely had Charlotte’s face in her mind. Except for when she caught sight of her, then it took a while to get Charlotte’s face out of it.

“Who cares what she’s doing?” Sasha asks, monotonously, breaking Becky out of her thoughts like Bayley had before, barely casting a glance Charlotte’s way. She’s twirling her wand in her fingers in a way Becky has found herself trying to emulate every once in a while. “I don’t.”

“Yes, we know, Sash,” Bayley says, without bite but with a roll in her eyes. “She’s irrelevant to you. The Flairs are stuck up and snobby. We got it. You don’t like her.”

Sasha looks up at the two of them then, and her eyes hold a glint that Becky has noticed many times in their growing friendship, though she can never decipher it; it only appears when Charlotte Flair is mentioned or seen.

“Good,” Sasha states simply, before standing. “Let’s go back inside. I’m getting cold.”

Becky and Bayley share a look as Sasha starts to walk towards the stairs. They both cut their gazes to where Charlotte is still running, and then they shrug and follow behind.

Becky has the passing thought that Charlotte Flair will probably forever remain a mystery, despite the increased amount of observation, and then Bayley links their arms together and starts rambling about what project of the week her dad picked up in his art business, and she doesn’t think about Charlotte anymore. For a while, at least. Until the next time sees her, at least.

And, yes, the tension that surrounds Sasha and Charlotte feels a little dramatic at times—Sasha is nothing if not dramatic, Becky comes to know without a doubt. But, truthfully, their first year passes by pretty uneventfully. (Well, as uneventfully as things can happen when attending a school that teaches magic.)

Becky grows more comfortable in the wizarding world. She grows more comfortable with her friends, and she just says, “Okay, sure,” whenever Sasha denies that she has friends.

Becky likes the routine that they set up for some nights and weekends. She likes spending time with them in the library, in the same spot she’d occupied that first week, where they aren’t talking, but they’re doing their work and they’re together. (She notices that Charlotte seems to have a spot all to herself in the library too, in an isolated corner, and she almost wants to ask her to join them, but she doesn’t.)

A few times, Becky and Bayley have to pull Sasha from an almost-fight with someone, and one time they have to tear her away from a real-fight with someone. (Which is ironic, because Sasha had implied that _she_ was the hothead.)

Luckily, they always manage to succeed in reining her in. Unluckily, she always has to go kicking and screaming, metaphorically but almost not. She just never can make it easy for them.

So, really, Becky is just thankful that she and Bayley have just a little more height, because she doesn’t know if they would succeed as fully if Sasha was their size.

Especially not with how angry she was after they’d pulled her away from landing punches on a second-year Slytherin named Randy.

Because  _that_  was rough. Sasha had been all harsh words and sharp movements. She was almost blind to just who was trying to get her away, and she nearly elbowed Becky in the face because she was so zeroed in on the boy, who was lying on the ground and curled in on himself.

But after Bayley said a firm, “Sasha, calm _down_ ,” she’d seemed to snap out of it a little, her fight or flight instinct settled some.

They led her away to an abandoned classroom, and then they took some steps back, because Sasha had a habit of pacing to cool off. They weren't sure how much time they had before a professor came looking to dole out the punishment, but they didn't really care.

So, sure enough, as soon as she was free, Sasha had her hands on her hips, and she was walking in a straight line from one wall to the other, muttering under her breath all the while.

Becky and Bayley simply waited, quietly, patiently. Though, after a few minutes, Becky couldn’t take it anymore.

“Sasha, c’mon,” she tried. “ _Relax_. He isn’t worth all this.”

“Don’t tell me to relax,” Sasha snapped, without any personal bite. “He deserved every single hit that he got. And a few more that I didn’t get in. You should’ve let me keep going.”

“You’ve got to stop getting into fights,” Becky insisted then. “You’re going to get worse than detention eventually.”

“Yeah, and what are you going to do if you get expelled in your first year?” Bayley asked, still breathing just a little heavier from dealing with Sasha’s valiant struggle. “We’re going to have to write all of our lessons out and mail them to you. And I don’t want my hand to cramp like that.”

Sasha’s seething expression broke a little then. She softened up.

“He deserved it,” she muttered again, wiping a hand across her face as her shoulders finally lost some of their tension. She tried for a faint smile. "But I'm sorry for almost elbowing you both in the face. That's on me."

Bayley chuckled some, but Becky caught Sasha's fingers as she brought them back down to her side.

“You’re bleeding," she said. "We should take you to the Hospital Wing.”

“Nope. No. I’m fine.”

“Either we take you to the Hospital Wing, _or_ you tell us why you fought him. Your choice.”

Sasha glared at Bayley’s words, but Bayley didn’t flinch away. She crossed her arms over her chest and stared right back, simply waiting.

Bayley has a habit of not backing down, they knew, and when Sasha saw Becky wasn’t about to help her, she let out a huff of air and said, “Fine. Take me to get bandages that I _don’t need_.”

And Becky and Bayley did, because Sasha didn’t have to tell them why she was fighting. It didn’t matter as long as she was okay.

They were almost positive they would figure out on their own eventually, anyway, and they did. When they heard whispers in the halls later on, about how the guy was spewing some crap about muggleborns and Sasha said she would give him a muggle beating just to prove that he didn’t know anything.

That night was when Becky hugged Sasha for the first time.

“What is this?” came the stilted question, as soon as Becky had her arms around Sasha’s waist. “Why are you—?”

“Shh. Let me hug you.”

Sasha stood stiffly still, but she didn’t fight, so that was a plus. Becky knew she was in no way a hugger. Not like Bayley, who loved bringing Becky in for an embrace every day—who gave hugs that felt a lot like home.

No. Sasha didn’t do physical contact, unless it was the painful kind bestowed, by her, upon someone else. Sasha was the type to sit close enough to feel but too far away to touch.

And Becky usually respected that.

But on this night Becky didn’t care. Because Sasha was her friend, whether she admitted it or not, and Sasha had defended her and everyone else like her, and Becky thought she deserved a hug.

So, she gave her a hug.

And, after a few moments, Sasha lifted her arms to rest around Becky’s back, like she figured it was best to give in and get it over with.

Her hold was looser than Becky's, and it still didn’t feel natural, but it was something.

So, Becky took what she could get.

She also pulled away soon after that, to try to be respectful of Sasha’s space once more, and when Sasha looked at her with a confused and mildly flustered expression, Becky just flashed a grin.

There was nothing else that needed to be said, but Becky felt it, and she thinks Sasha did too. 

Their friendship had been solidified. Sasha could no longer deny that she had friends. 

She, Bayley, and Becky were a trio. They had been for months, and they would continue to be until the universe said it was time. 

Becky remembers hoping that it never says "when." She still hopes that.

Because she’s consistently struck, almost every day, by how much she likes having best friends. By how they make the new experiences she's gaining at Hogwarts that much more fun. 

Like when she tries Every Flavour Beans for the first time and immediately gets a puke flavored one. Sasha laughs so hard at the expression she pulls that she nearly falls off of the couch in the Slytherin common room. Bayley has tears in her eyes by the time she catches her breath. Becky doesn't get the taste out of her mouth for hours. She contemplates cutting out her tongue. 

Bayley offers her some crystallized pineapple soon after to make up for it; apparently she'd known the color Becky had picked up but decided to let her suffer. But, sadly, it still doesn't get rid of the taste, and if Becky could ever stay mad at the girl, she would. But, alas, Bayley is impossible to continue being cross with. There's something about how big she makes her eyes when she feels bad or sad that has whoever they're directed at ready to do anything to make them shine again. So, Becky takes the peace offering with a muted glower on her face.

Sasha is still trying to regain composure when Becky tosses the first pillow at her face.

Her chuckle morphs into a gasp. Her eyes quickly narrow. 

"Oh, I  _know_ what just happened didn't actually happen."

Becky smirks. 

"Oh, I think it did," she says, already putting weight on her tiptoes. "What're you gonna do about it, Banks?"

Becky almost can't finish her sentence before the very same pillow is flung right at her head, nailing her directly in the face and effectively catching her by surprise. Sasha snickers and points; she really loves Becky's facial expressions, she's said before. They make her laugh. 

"You're gonna regret that." A blow from the side comes and throws off Becky's balance. She lifts a hand to her ear and stares in shock at the person triumphantly looking down at her. "Et tu, Bayley?" 

Bayley shrugs. 

"Stay on your toes."

"Oh, you're—.”

Becky lunges forward then, for the closest pillow, and soon a full on fight breaks out. 

For however long it lasts, they're all ducking and dodging and bobbing and weaving to avoid being hit. 

Alliances are quickly made and quickly broken, and Becky's laughing so hard that her sides hurt. She's laughing so hard eventually that she doesn't have the strength to keep going anymore. 

She collapses back into her spot on the couch when Bayley manages to get Sasha in the back of her head when she's turned away. Bayley falls next to her, clutching at her stomach.

The only reason Sasha doesn't retaliate is because a seventh-year girl Becky can't name appears from the doorway leading out into the corridor.

She glares at them disapprovingly, and their laughter dies out, almost like it’s sucked down a drain. But while Bayley and Becky look a little apprehensive, Sasha just glares right back, forever on the defensive.

And, of course, she's obviously more familiar with her fellow housemate than Becky and Bayley are, but it seems like a more personal kind of dislike. It feels like a similar sort of static to what she has with Charlotte, though not quite. 

(And, Merlin, Becky hates being so out of the loop on who’s who in the wizarding world.)

"What are you looking at, McMahon?" Sasha asks, inclining her head forward pointedly. 

She has a habit of calling people by their last names. 

"Your _friends,”_ McMahon practically spits the words. “Shouldn't be in here. It's almost curfew."

She cuts her eyes at Becky and Bayley then, at Becky specifically, and the action makes the air feel irrevocably tense. It definitely puts Becky on edge. It appears to rub Bayley the wrong way. It definitely rubs Sasha the wrong way.

"How about you mind your business," Sasha bites back, and Becky sometimes thinks she belongs in Gryffindor, because she seems to lack fear and shame entirely. "You’re not a prefect, and Daddy can't make anyone do what you want here, so move it along."

"You know," McMahon says, moving forward instead, to stand over where Sasha is still lounging in her spot, looking unfazed and unfriendly. "One day your mouth is going to get you in trouble, Banks. One day, your words might come back to bite you. You’re still young. You should try to fix that problem while you can.” 

Sasha's eyes flash. She loves the sound of a threat when she knows it's empty. She insists they're always empty when it comes to her. 

"Well, that day isn't today. So, like I said, keep it moving, would you?"

McMahon's lips twist, like she's the one that's eaten the barf-flavored bean. She looks disgusted.

Becky watches the girl's fists clench together tightly, and she prepares herself automatically for a fight, or for pulling Sasha from one.

It’s almost a routine at this point, with how outspoken Sasha is. And, though she isn't sure how fighting a seventh-year would go, she _is_  absolutely positive she wouldn't back down. Neither would Sasha or Bayley.

So, they're ready if they have to be. 

But then, just as the girl's twisted mouth opens to give a response, a quiet voice calls out from behind Becky, at the edge of the stairwell to the dormitories. 

"Stephanie." Becky glances over her shoulder to see Charlotte there, looking like she's seen a lot but won't comment on it. "Someone spilled ink on your notebooks. I don't know who it was. Nikki just told me to come tell you. She's trying to clean it right now."

"Are you _serious_?" Stephanie instantly pivots on her heel and walks towards Charlotte. "You've got to be fucking kidding me."

Charlotte shakes her head, completely calm. 

“The green ones or the black ones?” 

“Black, I think.” 

"You don't know who it was?" 

"No," Charlotte replies. "Sorry."

Stephanie lets out a short, sharp sigh. She strides, swift and smooth, past Charlotte, with a muttering of, "Figures. Merlin, I'm so sick of—."

The room falls into silence as she fades into the distance. Becky isn't sure how to react. 

Charlotte watches Stephanie go for a few moments, and then she turns her attention back to them. She looks between Becky and Bayley briefly before connecting her gaze to Sasha’s. 

She still doesn’t speak yet. Something seems to pass between the two of them, and Becky is surprised that Sasha’s hostility isn’t transferring as quickly as it usually does. 

“You know it’s not good to get on her bad side,” Charlotte eventually murmurs, still low, still almost too hard to hear. “Her dad can pull strings and get you kicked out if she really wanted it, and you know that.” 

Sasha’s posture stays relaxed, with her shoulders against the back of the couch and her left leg crooked up so her arm can rest across it. She seems completely unbothered, as usual, but Becky can see the tension in the lines of her face. It’s definitely all for show. 

“Yeah, well, some of us aren’t afraid of the McMahons and their influence, Baby Flair." Charlotte flinches almost imperceptibly at the venom in the name. " _Some_ _of_ _us_ aren’t afraid to go against the grain.” 

That calm demeanor Charlotte holds flickers for a fleeting second. Becky watches some hardness try to solidify in her expression and jaw. She wonders if she has to start prepping for a fight again. She wonders if she’s going to see more of the mysterious Charlotte Flair.

But just as quickly as it came, the storm passes, flitting over Charlotte’s features like a blip on the radar before it’s gone again. 

“Whatever,” comes the response, sounding so very tired. “If you want to get yourself hurt or expelled because you’re fighting them all the time, do it. Just don’t get house points taken anymore. People are getting sick of it.” 

Sasha scoffs at Charlotte’s back as she turns to leave.

”At least I'm _fighting_.”

Charlotte pauses in her path away from them. Becky notices a twitch of her fingers at her sides, and she isn't certain if she imagines it or not, but she thinks she sees a black smudge on the inside of Charlotte’s right palm, a small spot on the heel of it, by the base of her thumb.

But then the girl is leaving without another glance, after the pause lasts for an indeterminable amount of time—somewhere between two seconds and forever—and so Becky can't get a proper look. 

Once the sound of footsteps has receded far enough, Becky turns back around. She glances to Bayley, who seems to be just as confused in her attempts to grasp at the deeper currents underlying all the interactions they’ve had to watch.

Then they both look to Sasha, who has apparently understood all of them. 

But Sasha isn’t looking at them. Her eyes aren't focused on anything in particular, her brows are knitted together. She’s full-on frowning. 

And it’s not an unfamiliar expression on Sasha’s face, but Becky does wonder when it came to be, because Sasha had been perfectly impassive while the others were present. (She guesses it formed while she was still watching Charlotte.)

Again, Becky doesn't know how to react. She stays still.

That same type of pause comes back, and Becky wants to ask questions. She wants to get to the bottom of why Sasha always looks a little drained after talking to Charlotte and why she picks fights with her anyway. 

She thinks the two of them could maybe use an intervention or something, but she doesn't think they have those in the magical world. 

And she definitely doesn't think Sasha would want to keep being her friend if she forced her into one. 

So, she doesn't do what she wants. She stays still. She stays quiet. 

Finally, Sasha says, ”Curfew is pretty soon," and she meets their gazes, just barely. “Can y’all find your way back alright?”

Bayley nods just as Becky does. They're pretty much on the same wavelength of wanting to ask but refraining from doing so.

“Okay," Sasha nods too, more on instinct than anything. "See you tomorrow, yeah?”

They nod again, a final time, and Becky can’t quite pinpoint the mood of the room, but she knows she doesn’t like it.  

She finds there’s not really anything to do to change it either, so she simply walks with Bayley towards the exit, semi-reluctantly. 

Just before they pass through the doorway, they glance back. And for a moment, as Sasha thinks she’s alone, she lets her turmoil show on her face.

It’s completely obvious that something’s bothering her. She doesn't look as steady as always. She looks her actual age. 

And Becky almost wants to go back. 

But then someone coughs near the hall of the boys’ dorms, and Sasha shakes her head lightly. Her face goes back to relative normality. 

Becky likens the shift to when she used to push her toys under her bed so she could say her room was clean. 

She wonders if that’s what Sasha always does, when no one’s looking: Lets herself feel. She wonders if she's always got something brewing just under the surface. 

And while Becky wishes Sasha was okay with feeling when she and Bayley are around, she supposes it’ll take time, to build up that trust. 

And Becky’s got time. She'll _make_ time, if she has to, and Bayley seems to share the same sentiment. 

They silently agree that they won’t push her, not on this night, and they leave Sasha sitting on the couch in the common room alone. 

They walk in silence in the same direction for a while, but they’re not really in a rush. Other students go briskly by, worried about being caught out of bed after curfew, but they can’t be bothered. 

Becky’s quiet comes from lacking something to say, but Bayley’s seems to stem from not knowing _what_ to say, out of all the thoughts that are running through her mind. 

So, Becky just waits. She knows Bayley will find it. 

The sound of laughter bursts to life and then trails off somewhere around a corner. The flames from the torches on the walls elongates their shadows, walking side by side, and Becky likes watching how her arms stretch out as she swings them.

Through the windows, she can feel the night air. She can see the rosy color of the sky, as the sun sets. She's mystified by the feeling that this place brings to her chest. The calm it can foster in her when she's feeling stressed over an assignment or something similar, when she's on edge about things she doesn't understand. 

For a second, as she continues to move but keeps her eyes on the skies, she feels that calm. She forgets about feeling Sasha's upset in her own bones. She forgets about how much Charlotte confuses and intrigues her, all at the same time. She forgets about Stephanie's condescending glare. 

She just lets herself exist in the moment, with Bayley at her side, in their familiar brand of silence. (One of Becky's favorite silences is always the kind she shares with Bayley.)

But, then, Bayley breaks it, with a murmur of, “You know,” and Becky turns her attention towards her. “I mentioned to my dad a few weeks ago, in one of my letters, that Sasha keeps managing to find where the fights are, especially with Charlotte.” Becky is fully listening now. The calm slowly ebbs away. “And he didn’t say much, but he said it makes sense, with all the family history between the Flairs and the Bankses. He said not to worry about it and not to get caught up in it, but it feels too late for that now, doesn’t it?” 

Becky finds herself giving a nod of agreement, though she isn't entirely present anymore. She finds that she's suddenly trying to connect dots that are too faint to really see. Because she hadn't known that the Flairs and the Bankses had history, as two whole families. She just assumed that Sasha and Charlotte disliked each other for whatever personal reasons.

It makes more sense, she supposes. It would explain why the disdain Sasha holds appears to run so deep. Anything with family does. 

But, still, even with that knowledge, Becky understands that she’s missing too many other dots to really have some true explanation come into her head. So, she switches tracks.

“That seventh-year girl,” she says. “Do you know her?” 

Bayley nods too. 

“Yeah. Stephanie McMahon. It’s hard not to know her. The McMahons are very powerful. Her dad is close friends with the Minister of Magic, you know.” They turn the last corner on their route before they’ll have to part. “The McMahons were also the founders of WWE—Wizards With Excellence—which, as far as I know it, is this super snobby, rich social club that people would probably kill to get into. It’s super elite and competitive apparently. Only the so-called ‘best of the best.’” Bayley stops in her tracks so she can finish her thought before they separate. “Of course, excellence to them means purebloods only.”

Becky’s nose wrinkles. The image of Stephanie’s almost-grimace as she’d looked between the two of them makes more sense. 

“Rumor is, the candidates for the induction this year are being chosen by Stephanie. Her dad is looking to pass the torch soon, and since she’s about to graduate, it’s the perfect opportunity.”

The wrinkle in her nose shifts to her lips and forehead. She doesn't like the idea of that at all.

Because something about the thought of the girl they’d just encountered receiving direct power feels wrong. Something about the sound of WWE doesn’t sit right. 

Because Becky’s been starting to notice more and more that there’s a distinct tension between some purebloods and the rest of the magical population, in Hogwarts alone. And apparently it extends beyond kids feeling like they’re better than everyone else. Apparently it extends into the real world. Apparently there are whole clubs and organizations founded upon that very tension. 

The thought makes Becky cold, from her fingertips to her toes, even in the fiery locks of her hair. It brings back that feeling of being out of place, of not belonging, and she doesn’t know why. Because she thinks—she _knows_ —she belongs. 

Magic is in her blood just like theirs. She takes the same classes, she does the same work, she says the same spells and makes the same potions. 

So, why do they think they’re better? 

Better than Bayley. Better than her. Better than anyone like them. 

Well, she isn’t sure she’ll ever know or be able to give an explanation to it, other than: just because they want to. 

Just because they can. 

Just because the majority of them seem to be from rich, and usually powerful as a consequence, families.

Just because.

They don't like halfbloods and muggleborn wizards and witches just because, and, in Becky's opinion, that's a bunch of crap.

In Becky's opinion, it's stupid, and if they think they're better than her, then that's their problem. 

She's going to stay right where she is. 

There isn't anyone that's going to make her feel bad for who she is, not anymore. 

She spent the first few weeks at Hogwarts feeling ashamed, like she'd cheated her way in somehow. Sometimes she still feels like that. But not often. 

She's still working on it. But, one day, she's going to be able to say without any doubt, without any voice in the back of her head refuting it, that she belongs and deserves to be where she is. 

And if she forgets, then maybe she'll glance at the note she'd gotten that helped change how she thought about everything, because she still keeps it in her trunk, rolled up in a corner, untouched by the slight mess that seems to be present in the rest of the space. 

She doesn't know why she kept it, really. She doesn't know why it comforts her so much. 

But it does. Just like the view of the grounds does. Just as the air and the sky do.

She thinks it's because it's the first time she'd heard the advice to just be herself, instead of being given different techniques that work for other people. 

_Try going with whatever way feels natural, and don't worry about how it looks._

Don't worry about how it looks. Don't worry about what other people think. 

Be yourself.

Becky thinks there's no better way to exist. 

If she resolves to just be herself, the rest will fall into place; she’s sure of it. 

So, as she's lying in bed after the strange confrontation, after eating the most disgusting candy known to man, and as she's thinking of people like Stephanie and Randy, people in some elite social club with blood flowing through their veins that has the same color as her own, she promises herself to never let it get to her. 

Because it's only her first year, and she already knows she's where she's supposed to be. 

Hogwarts is her home now, and no one is going to take that from her. 

Though they might try. 

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you for reading!
> 
> My Tumblr is Flairfatale.


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